


Easier Made Than Kept

by Spylace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: #Teamcap, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Enough spoiler warnings yet?, Feelings, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Slash, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Saint, Spoilers, Steve Is a Good Bro, T'Challa regrets everything, as in fail crack, crack turned sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T’Challa gets engaged to the Winter Soldier thanks to an ancient Wakandan tradition</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier Made Than Kept

His uncle starts with the line, “the stars have told me...”, which has always preceded a lethargic swoon from his father so he’s not sure why he’s surprised he has a headache when he snaps, “Surely you jest. We are in Berlin. There are no stars. You cannot have seen stars because we arrived this morning.” When his father was still alive and could have told him that pursuing and failing to capture Barnes in the Black Panther regalia meant he was betrothed to a _murderer_. 

And N’Baza sniffs as though he is being the difficult one.

“Twice.” His uncle emphasizes as though he has never missed a bird or a deer in his life. “He escaped you. I have seen it! He wears the mark of Bast and Sekhmet on his shoulder.”

The mark on Barnes’ metal deltoid is in fact, a red star. A symbol of communism and not, as his uncle says, a divine favor. Only years of politics at his father’s knees keeps him from pointing out the blood trails across its five points.

T’Challa crosses his arms.

“He killed my father.”

“In the old days, that alone would have made him king.”

Static fills his head. Wakanda has always prided itself on its traditions. Sometimes, it rankles him that arrogant outsiders cannot immediately place it on a map. But even ancient laws cannot allow him to place a killer on his father’s throne.

“I do not ask that you relinquish the crown.” N’Baza soothes. “But Barnes has made a claim. You have answered it.” His uncle lets a short pause speak for itself. “My sister stalked your father for three days before ambushing him in the baths. Barnes evaded you twice. Has he not led you on a merry chase?”

His mother, he assumes, wanted to be married. He does not want to marry Barnes. His thoughts are only of revenge. Marriage is an obstacle to the said revenge. T’Challa pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And what of heirs? Barnes is a _man_.” A white man who, he finds himself pointing out over and over again, murdered his father. In a bombing rather than a duel like an honorable opponent.

“You have heirs.” N’Baza replies. “You have a sister. You have cousins.”

But T’Challa remembers the love his father shared with his mother. The easy companionship and respect he had hoped for in an inevitable political match.

The trickster’s mirth fades from N’Baza’s lined mouth. His watery gaze rests outside the window where figures march like ants to an unknown rhythm.

“War is coming nephew.” N’Baza tells him in a graveled whisper. “In the past ten years, we have seen Wakanda can no longer afford to stand alone in this world. I know you think my methods unorthodox but I do not speak lightly when I say Barnes is worthy; his soul is the sun that rests on Sekhmet’s mane.”

“The world wants Barnes dead. Yet you wish for me to save him.”

N’Baza nods.

“Yes.”

T’Challa thinks. There is a possibility an obscure ancient law will bind him to Barnes onto death should he ignore his uncle’s advice.

“I will do as you say.” He says grudgingly. “But I will do it my way.”

After all, what is another lost limb for Barnes?

N’Baza replies jackal-smug, “Let it be so.”

 

Teela is furious on his behalf.

“Send me.” She vows. “I will bring you his head.”

“I gave my word Teela.”

“You are king.”

He is king. Which is why he leans on the UN until they lean on the CIA to produce his vibranium armor intact. But the backpack belonging to Barnes is another matter. It is considered evidence. Inside is the Winter Soldier's combat uniform and a memorabilia of Captain Rogers. Articles have been clipped neatly with personal notes dotting the margins.

He closes the book feeling mildly disquieted by the details. T’Challa does not like the portrait it paints. Barnes is a killer and he focuses on that. He does not reminding that Barnes is a broken man.

By the time Ross kindly loans them the use of Barnes’ possessions, the man is gone. Rogers is gone. So is Wilson. But three men are easier to find than one. The roads out of Berlin are not so different from elephant paths. He finds the three men hiding in a building under an overpass. Away from strangers, Barnes is almost cooperative. T’Challa sees how easily Barnes sways Rogers to his side and thinks that it is a weakness. He does not care why Barnes did it—he simply wants the man’s head on a stick. But when Barnes is released, he springs to his feet and pushes forward aggressively.

Wilson wisely jumps to the side but Rogers follows.

“You.” Barnes says.

“Your highness.” Rogers greets carefully, a hand pressed to Barnes’ lower back.

He tosses the bag down between them. Barnes eyes it and absentmindedly grabs Rogers’ collar when the captain makes a beeline for it.

“Bucky’s backpack.” Rogers wheezes.

“I thought you might want it back.”

Barnes is unimpressed.

“I wish to offer you my assistance in the matter. If there are other Winter Soldiers, they must be stopped.”

Wilson opens his mouth.

“What’s the catch?”

T’Challa glares.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sam.” The captain hisses.

“What, the guy tries to kill Barnes twice but suddenly he wants to be buddy-buddy with us? He’s royalty Steve. You can’t trust him.”

“Officers.” Barnes intones solemnly.

 He breathes out through his teeth.

“In my country, there is a tradition: he who defeats king will become king.”

The blue of Barnes’ eyes widen when he is pushed behind two bodies. Both Wilson and Rogers are wearing what he can only describe as his mother’s most disappointed face.

“You’re not taking him!” Rogers says loyally as though Barnes is not the most dangerous person in the room.

“That is not my choice.” He says with a touch of impatience. “I was... out-voted.”

“Who the hell wants to make me king?” Barnes says out loud.

Wilson nods emphatically. Barnes elbows him. They are children.

“Consort.” T’Challa corrects, feeling wrong-footed. “As you have proven your strength and skill in battle, I am to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Barnes takes a second to consider his proposal.

“Okay.”

“What.”

“What?”

“Bucky!”

Barnes does not meet his eyes. He does not meet anyone’s eyes save for Rogers with whom he shares an entire conversation punctuated entirely by teeth and blond eyebrows.

“Okay.” Rogers sighs, aggrieved. He maneuvers himself in front of Barnes and holds out a hand as though he would much rather punch him in his teeth. “Welcome aboard.”

 

The vehicle they take is not meant for four people. Not when half of their number has bathed in the Spree.

Captain Rogers puts his seat back as far as he can in a passive-aggressive move that finds even Wilson at a loss for words. Barnes magnanimously folds himself behind the Avengers (“To keep an eye on all of you, Jesus.”, "Do not go there Grumpy Cat.") to offer room. T’Challa is forever grateful. At least, until the questions start.

“So, I marry you. I’m the queen?”

“Consort.” T’Challa corrects because he cannot believe Barnes has agreed. Though of course, if his mind is truly as splintered as Rogers claims, he cannot be held accountable for his decisions.

At a rest stop, Barnes makes a motion to get out of the car.

“Bucky.” Rogers admonishes.

“Are you serious?” Wilson.

“Take your hands off the door.”

Barnes rolls his eyes.

“Do any of you speak German other than ‘surrender’ and ‘stick your hands up?’.

Rogers and Wilson turn to him with hopeful eyes.

He glares hard.

“Spanish.” He admits though it pains him.

“Officers.” Barnes snorts. “I’ll be right back.” And conveniently slips his wallet out from his breast pocket.

T’Challa glares harder.

As promised, Barnes returns ten minutes later with the requisite supplies. T’Challa grabs the chocolate bar out of the air when it is thrown at him. Barnes shrugs at the raised eyebrow.

“Steve needs the sugar; Wilson needs to watch his figure.” Wilson throws a green gummy bear at Barnes’ head. Barnes does not bat an eye. “But you, I thought.”

“Thank you.”

T’Challa carefully pretends he doesn’t see Rogers grinning into his ice cream sundae.

 

Sometimes the best places to hide are under people’s noses. This is the argument T’Challa makes when his legs cramp from lack of circulation. Their reinforcements are expected to arrive tomorrow and they are too well-known for the usual haunts of travelers. He charges a penthouse suite on his card and dares the others to argue.

And as much as it pains Rogers to peel his eyes from Barnes for more than a second, the murderer insists that they sleep separately in case Stark or the others find them before dawn.

“But doesn’t that mean we should stay together?” Rogers wheedles with wounded eyes.

It is quite unbecoming of a warrior.

“Come on man.” Wilson gives Rogers a pat on the back. “Let’s give these love birds some room.”

In the dining room, Wilson turns the TV on to offer them a sense of privacy and remarks, very loudly, how much better it is that they have electricity, running water and heat.

“I didn’t kill your father.”

The complementary mint snaps in his hands.

“Then why did you run?”

Barnes cannot meet his eyes. He wanders like a circling hawk, focusing on the flesh of his left cheek. When he answers, his words are flat and impersonal like ink off paper.

“The doctor required thirty seconds to initiate protocols. He received ten minutes. He wanted to know the events which occurred December 16, 1991: the death of Howard and Maria Stark.”

Under the rough purr of a German anchor, there is telling silence from outsider the bedroom.   

“He could have asked for the launch codes to a silo in Saratov, the _Bal du moulin de la Galette_ , or even Anthony Stark’s head. He could have ordered me to eliminate everyone in the compound and I would have done it.”

“I would have stopped you.” He interrupts.

This earns him a smile.

“You would have had to kill me.”

He is reminded; Barnes does not need weapons to kill. The surveillance tapes showed a man who was trying to hide. But Barnes moves deliberately with purpose. No action is wasted. The only way to see him coming is if he wishes to be seen. T’Challa does not know how to feel about this. Barnes may not be the bomber. Perhaps, as his uncle said, Barnes has the gods’ favor.

“You should get some rest.” Barnes sits by the window. He recalls that Barnes was Captain Rogers’ sniper during the war. Before he became this. “We can take turns.”

His lips spread thin.

“It is unwise to turn your back on an enemy.”

“Geeze, and I thought Rhett Butler had it bad.”

He makes it plain. “I do not trust you.”

“Then don’t.” Barnes replies, playing with the curtains. “Trust Steve.”

 

He sleeps. Barnes is a fair roommate and it is his absence that shakes him awake.

The door is slightly ajar and when he peers outside, he sees Rogers and Barnes in an embrace. There are snippets of conversation he hears. Things that must be said out loud beyond the limits of propriety.

“Missed you so much Buck. Why didn’t you come back?”

“What, and miss this?” Rogers makes a pained noise. He wonders how Wilson fairs tonight.

“Stevie, hey, hey, it ain’t your fault you big sap.”

“I’m not _wrong_. Should have looked for you back then.”

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Barnes asks, exasperated.

Rogers coughs out a laughter.

“I could do this all day.”

“Mm. That’s why it always ends in a fight.”

“I win now. Sometimes.”

“Swell.”

“You’ll.” There is a motion as Rogers grabs Barnes by the shoulders and looks at him as though it may be the last time. They have had this conversation. In the cramped car with Barnes smelling like something drudged up from the river and Rogers smelling worse. Agent Carter is a remarkable woman to let him get close. Come what may, they must stop the man who wants an army of Winter Soldiers at his beck and call.

“Good night Stevie. You gotta hit on all sixes in the morning.”

“Good night Buck.”

Rogers retires to his room.

Barnes says, “You can come out now.” As though they are not all listening.

“You did not wake me.” T’Challa accuses simply because it is the easiest problem to address.

“I lied.” Barnes tells him baldly. “You looked like you needed it. Can’t have my best guy falling asleep in the middle aisle.”

He grimaces.

“You are a very strange man James Barnes.”

Barnes smirks.

“’ppreciate it.”

 

“Thought cats always landed on their feet!”

“I am not a cat!”

Thankfully, Wilson directs his drone to flinging the boy out the window before T’Challa can get his hands on him. Barnes, stuck to a wall, quips, “couldn’t you have done that earlier?” and it is the first thing he can remember that they agree on. Whole-heartedly. Wilson groans, “Man, I hate you.” As though Barnes is a brother, a trusted comrade rather than a killer seeking redemption.

T’Challa frees Barnes first and Wilson cries favoritism.

“Shoulda married him first then.”

“Court.” He corrects, annoyed.

Wilson stares at him through the red lens. He shakes his head.

“Nah, he’s all yours Bucky Bear.”

Unfortunately, this is the last of the levity they are allowed. They leave Wilson behind, they leave Maximoff behind, and Barton and Lang. And the illustrious Black Widow who aids their escape. He is angry and he cannot explain why. When Barnes begins to questions his own worth, he digs his vibranium claws in the red star, long before Rogers can say anything, and growls, “do not”.

The white of the tundra hurts his eyes. He misses the jungle and the pale mist in the morning, His presence is too obvious in the snow. And when all is revealed, he feels empty. He wishes that he had stayed his hand so that he could have crushed the petty little man’s head to the glass and demanded reparations for the heartache.

T’Challa sees the moment awareness dawns on Barnes. When all reasoning flees Stark’s admittedly brilliant mind. Vengeance grips the man’s heart as the metal fingers do Barnes' throat. When Captain Rogers tells Barnes to run, T’Challa shoves the startled man forward and starts running.

Barnes sustained injuries when Stark tackled him. His breathing is laborious and loud. There is a spot of blood under his nose which he quickly wipes away with a dazed grimace. But he is well enough to throw a wink as he swings upwards onto a ramp, each jump taking longer and longer.

Captain Rogers cannot hold off the Iron Man forever. Stark rises from the rubble and fires several projectiles in their direction. They miss but they cost precious time.

As the door slams shut on their escape route, Barnes throws him out into the snow. His armor absorbs most of the shock. He does not land on his feet and he cannot find a way back inside.

On a hill, overlooking the prison where Barnes was kept, Zemo sits seeing everything but nothing. Imagining the battle of two men tearing each other apart for the fate of one.

“Vengeance has blinded you.”

Barnes is not the killer after all. N’Baza is very wise. He feels physically ill at the thought he could have killed an innocent man. But Zemo, he is not so innocent. The vibranium in his armor turns the bullet into powdered fragments inside his fist. He hogties the man and drags him to where they landed the quinjet. It is not long before the victor is determined. Barnes and Rogers stagger up the steps together, leaving trails of blood in their wake.

The damage Rogers sustained is mostly superficial. His serum has healed the worst of it. But Barnes is not so fortunate. He is going into shock.

As T’Challa warms the engines, Rogers wraps around his companion. He does not know how to feel about Rogers spooning his consort-not-consort but is irritated that he has bothered think of it at all. Barnes, thankfully, stops bleeding somewhere over Minsk. The metal arm, cut over the elbow, sparks dully.

Barnes fails to stir when they land in Berlin. While he hands Zemo to CIA custody, his staff offers the two men the much needed medical care.

“How is he?”

“He is strong.” N’Baza offers. “He will recover.”

He trusts his uncle to be right. There are makeshift stretchers on board. Barnes is in one of them, force fed fluids through his veins. No one can know they are here so Rogers is crouched beside him, features anxious and pinched with stress.

“It was foolish of you to engage the Iron Man.”

“Tony wouldn’t have killed me.” Rogers dismisses easily, brushing the hair out of his friend’s face.

“But he would have killed Barnes.”

“I wouldn’t have let him.” Rogers stands, fingers tracing the red star on his friend’s arm as he looms over him. T’Challa raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by the display. “Bucky is my best friend. You do well by him or else.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” He agrees. “I give you my word. I will protect Barnes to the best of my ability.”

“Barnes is right here.” Barnes complains drowsily. He has regained color in his face; he no longer looks like he will blend in with the snow though he remains pale and small under the soft blue comforter.

"Hey Bucky, be careful. Or you're going to fall out of bed."

"The doctors wanted to strap me in." Barnes says in a conspiratory whisper. "Steve wouldn't let them." 

He could see why that would have been a bad idea.

When Rogers finishes tucking Barnes in like a child, T’Challa clears his throat.

“May I have a moment with him?”

Rogers is a leopard that has heard the wind rustle. “Oh,” He says, blushing pink. “Oh right, yeah, of course.” And walks three feet away to watch.

“Punk.” Barnes spits after him fondly.

“I am sorry.” T’Challa begins because he is unsure where to start. He is sorry that he hadn’t listened to the man. Wants to apologize for trying to kill him. He is undecided on their failed courtship.

Barnes asks, “’Bout what?”

“You did not kill my father.”

“Mm.”

“I did not believe you.”

“You listened.” Barnes says. “It’s as much as anyone’s ever done for me.”

T’Challa is saddened to realize this is true.

“Hey um,” The other man continues. “I guess you have to look for another husband then.”

“Consort.” T’Challa corrects, out of habit than anything else. He sits down next to Barnes. It has been a very long day. Their hands touch briefly. Barnes is warm.

"Not Zemo right?"

"I feel that he is a poor choice all things considered."

Zemo will face justice in the international court. Should they decide to hand him over to Wakanda, T'Challa won't bother getting his suit dirty by killing him in it.

“Damn, and I was really looking forward to it. The cake, the fireworks, the whole nine yards.”

“That could be arranged if you wish.” He says agreeably.

“Nah.” Barnes gestures with an IV line. “It’s not a good time right now.”

Rogers shuffles forward and sits down on the other side.

"Yes, you must recover and become stronger." He speaks to both of them because he has learned that some battles cannot be fought. But they can be won. "Wakanda is home to some of the best doctors in the world. They will build you a new arm and help you heal your mind."

"Can you do that?" Barnes asks suspiciously. "Aren’t you the king?”

He grins.

“Precisely.”

"Thank you." Rogers says honestly. He holds out a hand and Barnes presses two fingers to the back of his wrist, staring at the split knuckles. "We haven't introduced ourselves, have we Buck."

"Our Mas will skin us alive." Barnes says with cheer.

It sounds barbaric.

They shake hands.

“Steve Rogers.” The captain says. 

“James Barnes, my friends uh," he glances up shyly through his eyelashes. "...call me Bucky.”

T'Challa is pleased. 

“T’Challa, son of T’Chaka. I am the king of Wakanda.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some readers have brought up the issue of colonialism regarding this story. I realize this is a sensitive issue and apologize if I have made anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> That said, T'Challa does not marry Bucky. He never had any real intentions of marrying Bucky. As he mentions in the beginning, he's not going to put a white regicidal maniac on his throne. In a way, that T'Challa/Bucky tag is a click-bait. Sorry.
> 
> If anyone wants me to take this down, leave a comment.


End file.
